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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761075">HLVRAI Mixtober Prompts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/coolattaz'>coolattaz (orphan_account)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Half-Life VR but the AI is Self-Aware - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amputation, Autistic Tommy Coolatta, Beating, Blood, Blood and Injury, Bruises, Choking, Digital Art, Drugs, Flufftober, Knives, Mixtober, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poison, Scopophobia, Sensory Overload, Whumptober, characters will be added, cowboy bandaids, gordon and gman will never be tagged even if they appear because ao3 wont separate the fuckin tags, this is a collection of my mix fluff/angst prompts for october</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:32:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,403</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761075</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/coolattaz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my writing for the mix of fluff/angst prompts I'm doing this October.</p><p>(this is currently on the backburner as i'm focusing on my bigger writing pieces. it'll be done someday slkdjsd)<br/>(rated Mature for violence)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), Tommy Coolatta/Gordon Freeman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1. Stabbed & In The Shadows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>In hindsight, Gordon really should have been more suspicious of how Benrey and Bubby kept trying to get him to go into the room first.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The shifty eyes, the insistence-- well, it didn’t really matter now.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The lights were out. </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Gordon heard a sick <em>crack</em> as one of the soldiers kicked him in the chest, the blunt pain of the military boot mixing into the sharp pain of his rib fracturing. He didn’t even know how he heard it over the sound of his own groaning and the unhelpful commentary of the science team and Benrey.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He let out another strained call for help, this time answered by Dr. Coomer, who refused because of the strange playcoin thing he was always on about. At the very least Gordon thought he would drop it when seeing him in danger, but apparently not. </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He didn’t hear the metal of the suit’s right arm <em>crunch</em> and fall off. He didn’t hear the knife unsheathe.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh dear… what are they doing to his--”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The pain in his chest was nothing compared to the horrific feeling of the knife plunging into his arm, slicing away at flesh and muscle and sawing through the bone. This knife was not made to cut like this, and he could feel it, the serrated edge tearing through him with way too much force. When his arm was gone he could barely even tell because the ungodly pain was still there, his blood pooling around him, the ghost of the knife still lodged somewhere in his body surely, because he could feel it. He could still feel it stabbing into him.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh my God, his arm! I didn’t tell you to do that!”</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Bubby was drowned out by the sound of Gordon’s screams.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 2. Bloody Hands & Comfort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Joshua watched from the entrance to the kitchen as his father crouched on the floor, brushing broken glass into a dustpan. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said. He really didn’t mean to drop the cup, but his four year old hands weren’t exactly the most graceful.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, Joshie. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have given you a glass cup in the first place,” Gordon says. “I just gotta get this cleaned up and we can get you some juice in a <em> plastic </em> cup, ok?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ok. Can I help clean?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Gordon was looking up now, still sweeping the floor but giving his son a stern look to keep him from stepping closer. “Broken glass is dangerous. You can get-- ow!”</p><p> </p><p>He must have accidentally scratched the back of his left hand against a stray piece of glass in his absentminded sweeping, because a small cut began to well up with blood.</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh.” He dropped the brush and pan so he could hold his one flesh hand, inspecting the injury. “This is what I meant, Joshie. You can get hurt.”</p><p> </p><p>When he looked back up again, however, Joshua wasn’t there, having dashed off.</p><p> </p><p>“Joshie?”</p><p> </p><p>“I can fix it!” Gordon heard his son yell from somewhere else in the house. The sound of small feet running got louder, and his son turned the corner, a package of cowboy-themed band-aids in his hands. He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen (fortunately now more aware of the danger of the glass) and bounced in place, staring expectantly at his father until he got up and walked a few steps over.</p><p> </p><p>“I can take care of it myself, kiddo.”</p><p> </p><p>Joshua grabbed Gordon’s hand. "No-- I saw you do it! I can do it.” Gordon always patched him up whenever he skinned his knee on the sidewalk or fell off his scooter-- he could do the same for his dad.</p><p> </p><p>It took him a few shaky tries to tear the paper off the band-aid, but he eventually did it, slapping it onto the back of Gordon’s hand. He patted it, then kissed it, exactly as his father did for him. “You’re better now!” He declared triumphantly.</p><p> </p><p>Gordon laughed and ruffled his son’s hair with his now definitely completely healed hand. “Thanks bud. Now let me throw away the glass and we’ll see about that juice, alright?”</p><p> </p><p>Joshua nodded, smiling.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>see look i was nice to gordon. gordon dad moments!</p><p>tomorrow i may or may not be nice. have not decided yet. see you then</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 3. Insomnia & "But you said"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Art this time!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>(view on <a href="https://jewishtommycoolatta.tumblr.com/post/631015684572332032/3-insomnia-but-you-said">tumblr</a>)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>its a drawing this time.... tomorrow will be more writing (freelatta arm cut angst #918276838) so look out 4 that</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 4. "No, stop!" & Wounded</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>sorry tommy</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warning for blood and description of sensory overload/meltdown</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lights were out.</p><p> </p><p>For the first time in his life, Tommy cursed his heightened vision, because he would give anything to be able to tear himself from the horrible sight of Gordon getting the utter shit beaten out of him by two soldiers.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy had had a feeling that Benrey and Bubby were planning something… <em>unsavory</em>, but he wouldn’t have ever expected them to sell Gordon out to the military.</p><p> </p><p>He definitely wouldn’t have expected them to do <em> that </em> to his arm.</p><p> </p><p>“No! Not Dr. Freeman’s right arm!”</p><p> </p><p>The room stank of blood, and the sound of Gordon’s screaming rang around in Tommy’s ears and squeezed around his head, and his skin crawled something horrible like bugs, prickling at his pores and-- rubbing his hands down his khakis to feel something even slightly normal and someone was-- holding him, someone was picking him up--</p><p> </p><p>“Now gentlemen, let’s get out of here before they peel us apart!”</p><p> </p><p>And Dr. Coomer was hauling him away, and those fucking bootboys were dragging Gordon’s twisted body off in the other direction--</p><p> </p><p>“No, stop!”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy squirmed in the old man’s grasp, but he wasn’t strong enough. And someone was-- shoving a toy into his hands, some kind of distraction, and he grabbed it and ran his hands over the ridges to feel something even slightly normal, because none of this was normal, and none of it should have happened, and Tommy should have known and done something, and-- </p><p> </p><p>The stench of blood eventually <em> eventually </em> disappeared. </p><p> </p><p>But it was stained in Tommy’s head. </p><p> </p><p>And it would be for hours.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>its HERE sorry it took a while i have. things to do. prompt 5 will be out shortly as well (it will be a drawing) then hopefully i will be back 2 normal schedule</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 5. Poisoned & Sparkle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"We've been working on an evil flavor."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry abt the wait i am trying my best i promise 😔</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 6. Betrayed & Quicksilver</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i am bad at hand/arm anatomy. but here's This.,</p><p>prompt 7 will be a fic again finally</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 7. Kidnapped & "Stop hogging the blankets!"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was 3 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Which, in Gordon’s opinion, was the perfect time for sleeping in his nice comfy bed, with his lovely boyfriend, and not doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> else.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>GMan unfortunately begged to differ.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I please just go to fucking sleep, you weird old man?!” Gordon snapped.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The weird old man in question aggressively shushed him, pointing to a sleeping Tommy, as if his strange warping of the world and glowing eyes weren’t infinitely more likely to wake him up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand that this... time of night is not, as </span>
  <em>
    <span>convenient </span>
  </em>
  <span>for you, but it is the only time that I can, ah, take you aside without... </span>
  <em>
    <span>suspicion</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” GMan gestured to Tommy once again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t plan a surprise party at literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> other time?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>More annoying shushing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And now there was a giant portal, which was certainly louder than Gordon had been, and GMan was dragging him out from under the covers to go into his weird G-Void to plan Tommy’s 38th birthday party even though they could just go to dinner like REGULAR adults. But GMan was some strange space eldritch, the furthest thing from regular, so Gordon was going to help him plan a party at 3 in the fucking morning because he had literally no other choice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The blankets fell off the bed as Gordon got dragged into the void.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy could sleep through yelling and bickering and teleporting and void kidnapping just fine, but the cold bothered him enough to stir him just slightly awake.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop… stop hogging the blankets,” he mumbled, fumbling his arms out to take the duvet back from Gordon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Gordon was-- Gordon wasn’t there?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes cracked open, and then snapped </span>
  <em>
    <span>wide</span>
  </em>
  <span> open, and Gordon wasn’t there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh no.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>gman annoys gordon and accidentally makes tommy panic at 3am asmr!</p>
<p>bonus funny that i sent my beta reader at like 2am while coming up w the idea for this prompt:</p>
<p>gman returning with gordon like three hours later: ok so dont tell tommy about the surprise<br/>gordon: yeah ok can i go back to bed now<br/>tommy who has been sobbing into the covers for the past three hours because he thought gordon fucking died or something: HUH?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. 8. Fever & Unwavering</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>yes its day 8 on the 26th what about it. anyways freelatta momence #298326378</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this is supposed 2 be a scene from my fic(s) <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26377906">Yellow Eyes</a>/<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26530396">Green Eyes</a> so go read those :3c</p>
<p> </p>
<p>also again i know im late with these. sometimes brain doesnt work ok. im working on it i promise 😔</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. 9. Stranded & Monochromatic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. 10. Bruises & "Once Upon A Time..."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gordon has to tell his son what happened eventually.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The relief Gordon felt at finally getting out of that damned HEV suit was indescribable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even now, after finally getting home and taking orange prison off, he still expected to feel the heave of metal when he turned, the scratch of the undersuit when he stretched.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, the ghost of the suit haunted him. Purple spots of the sore pain it caused still hurting. Under his skin. All around his body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruises littered his body in patterns and lines, curling around his joints where the edges of the suit dug in too deep, discoloring the parts of his body that had not been entirely protected by the metal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would have loved to just ignore the pain, internalize the ache like he did with everything else, but his bright-eyed son (oh how he had missed his son) had caught just the slighted sight of his poor marred skin when one of sleeves rolled up a bit too high, and kept bothering him for details.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, that was maybe a bit of a rude way to describe his son’s natural concern for his damaged father.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that Gordon blamed Joshua. He had already been very secretive about the whole thing, refusing to describe the horrible events of the Resonance Cascade in any kind of detail, even with the… rather </span>
  <em>
    <span>obvious </span>
  </em>
  <span>effects that it had on him (unfortunately even beyond his missing arm).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And his son was smart, much more than he should be, much more than for his own good. He knew when his dad was lying. When his dad was avoiding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he had that insatiable four-year-old curiosity that made Gordon so proud and ready to rip his prematurely-graying hair out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Gordon really did hate hiding things. He was so tired of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, he couldn’t  tell Joshua what </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>happened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he could tell a story.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A story about… a cowboy. Yeah, Joshie loved cowboys.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A cowboy who got caught up in a big mistake, and had to help all his cowboy friends escape. And along the way there was some… some rivalry. Some betrayal. Some uh… rodeos?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some… some bruising.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah, that would work. For now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Gordon sat his wide-eyed son down on the couch for storytime (and definitely didn’t wince when Joshua climbed into his lap, kneeing the still-healing flesh on his legs), and started a story. About </span>
  <em>
    <span>cowboys</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Once upon a time…”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yes im trying to add like actual summaries now</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. 11. Hypothermia & Radiance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Benny art :) (tw scopophobia)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>made with <a href="https://www.color-hex.com/color-palette/48962">this palette!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. 12. Electrocution & Clenched Fists</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. 13. "Stay." & Whispers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is based off my friend's <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777989/chapters/65323351">dark and dreary night au</a>, please go give that a read first!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>that they shouldn’t have stayed so close to the town.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A reminder of just how stupid they’d been came with every thumping footstep and shout of the angry townspeople invading the abandoned cabin they’d moved into, searching every room for the two monsters that had settled into it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He knew they came only to hurt-- he could smell the fire from their torches (so, so horribly familiar), the wreaths of garlic that they wore around their necks, if he focused enough he could probably smell the fresh cut of wooden stakes, rusted pitchforks, complete and utter bloodlust.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And those people called </span>
  <em>
    <span>them </span>
  </em>
  <span>the monsters.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck, Bubby was hyperventilating so hard they thought their head might fall off from the exertion. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, dear, please calm down. We don’t want them to hear,” Harold whispered in his spot next to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby clapped his hands over his mouth and tried to calm down. This pantry they were hiding in was much too small. They felt trapped. They were trapped.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He could hear the humans speaking now, angry words getting closer, angry boots getting closer and closer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In a moment of deep and utter selfishness, Bubby was so glad Harold was here with him, because otherwise they were sure that frenzied mob would have just torched the place and left him to burn to death.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Harold whispered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck, did he say that out loud?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was holding their shoulder now, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. “Bubby, I promise--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
  <em>
    <span>-K UPSTAIRS! DID ANYONE CHECK UPSTAIRS?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck. They were getting closer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two weren’t going to last much longer in there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harold looked towards the door, and he had… some kind of look on his face. One Bubby had never seen before.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He got up, reaching for the pantry door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby grabbed at his pants leg. “H-- Harold, what are you--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And he had some </span>
  <em>
    <span>strange </span>
  </em>
  <span>tone in his voice that they’d never heard before, something that would have made Bubby’s reanimated skin crawl if it could still do that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <span>So Bubby listened, curling in on himself in the corner of that little pantry as the vampire sneaked out, ready to show those humans exactly what a </span>
  <em>
    <span>monster </span>
  </em>
  <span>really was.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. 14. Torture & Possibilities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t as secluded as they would like, but that was fine.</p><p> </p><p>They could be secretive. They could whisper.</p><p> </p><p>“So you said those <em> bootboys </em>are offering to help us?”</p><p> </p><p>Benrey nodded. </p><p> </p><p>Bubby crossed his arms. “Why would they help us, though? They’ve been trying to kill us.”</p><p> </p><p>Benrey shrugged, but Bubby began talking again before he could form a reply. “Whatever. As long as we can get him out of the picture, I’m happy.”</p><p> </p><p>Despite his words, his brow creased with anxiety. “What did they say they’re going to do to him?”</p><p> </p><p>“didn’t say anything. just said to, y’know, lead him there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well what do you <em> think </em>they’re going to do?!” Bubby was huffy (as always, he always seemed to be so fucking huffy), and Benrey had to shush him, nodding his head down the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>“i think that uh... i think they’re gonna <em> get </em>him, bro.” It was informal, but Benrey put an emphasis behind those words that Bubby, for how much he loved to call himself ‘so smart’ and ‘the best’, should have picked up on.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re gonna rough him up?”</p><p> </p><p>Ugh.</p><p> </p><p>“yeah, bro.” Oh, they’d do worse. They were military men, evil to the bone (haha, same), the only question was what worse meant. Benrey didn’t really know, though.</p><p> </p><p>“what do you want them to do?”</p><p> </p><p>“I want them to do to him everything that he DESERVES! Everything that we fucking went through! I mean, that little shit, he’s the fucking <em> reason </em> we’re in here,  he should feel just as much pain as we have, I mean, I don’t want him to <em> die </em>, but he still needs to…” </p><p> </p><p>Bubby kept rambling on, louder than he probably should have, but Benrey had already tuned him out. Whatever he was going to say, whatever he wanted, didn’t really matter. The guard (kind of an ironic title, right?) just had to convince him to go through with it-- that whatever the outcome was going to be, it would be one he wanted.</p><p> </p><p>There was a possibility (read: near-guarantee, with their knives and guns and violent programming) that the ‘bootboys’ would just murder all the rest of them after getting to Gordon. But Benrey could let Bubby have his fantasies of revenge, of Gordon ‘getting what was coming to him’ without the threat of death. </p><p> </p><p>He wouldn’t have them for long, anyways.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. 15. Manhandling & Breathless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW for choking</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ropes go brrrrrrrrrrr</p><p>i obviously did not put effort into this i just wanted to make a funney image to take a break from serious thinking on writing sjkdsjh. one day i may redraw this seriously idk</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. 16. Bedridden & Always</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>boomer time</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Escaping the apocalypse with your new (old) found love gave Bubby an amazing new privilege of sleeping in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harold, however, perennially a morning person, didn’t seem to understand the absolute necessity that they not get up any earlier than one in the afternoon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s time to get up, dear.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bubby groaned, pulling his shoulder from his husband’s nudging and burying his face further into the pillow. Another nudge prompted a muffled </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s too damn early.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s 10 am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Too damn early.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harold sighed, then let out a soft chuckle. He propped his head up on one arm and looked at his husband with a smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We go through this every morning, don’t we?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mm</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then why don’t we just get this over with, then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bubby smiled into his pillow, then turned and raised his arm to pull Harold into his chest, cuddling him close in a way that made him burst out laughing. Their arms wrapped around each other, warm and sleepy, truly just like every other morning they’d had together since leaving Black Mesa.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another morning sleeping in, snoozing in each other's arms, safe and sound. Just the way it was meant to be.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. 17. Drugged & Yours</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW drugs (kinda obvs) &amp; amputation/gore/blood mentions. freelatta part 2873827</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>M-m---orphine ad---ministered.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gordon sighed in relief. While the voice of the suit was glitchy and damaged, the drug administration system was finally fixed, and he could already feel that foggy bliss rolling over his mind, dulling the sharp pain from his stump arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He relaxed, leaning back slightly, only remembering he was essentially sitting in Tommy’s lap when his head hit the other man’s chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it-- did it work, Mr. Freeman?” Tommy didn’t really need an answer, seeing as he had to gently push Gordon up to close the panel at the back of the suit, and how a dopey, drugged smile had formed on his face, but he nodded anyways.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘s nice,” he drawled. The suit’s morphine systems had broken a while ago, and it was just so nice to have that pain relief again. The high mixed in with his blood loss delirium and made him pliable, and Tommy let him rest his head on his chest again as he went more and more lax.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thats-- that’s good! We still uh, we-- we still need to get you to a-- a med station, though.” Despite saying this, Tommy was also relaxing, wrapping his arms around Gordon and pulling him closer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gordon let out a dazed laugh. “You… afraid I’m gonna run away? I’m not goin’ anywhere, man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-- no, I just wanted you to be--be comfortable, Mr.--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m yours.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy startled at that, looking down at Gordon incredulously, and was met with that dopey, loving smile, staring up at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you don’t have to… worry, alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blushed. “You-- you really need that b-blood, Mr. Freeman…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, though, they could stay there for a little, letting Gordon’s pain melt away in Tommy’s arms.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. 18. Hostage & Things left unsaid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He always visited at night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bubby told him once that was how he told the time-- in the room without clocks or windows, he relied on Harold to keep him from slipping into a timeless void.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tried to avoid thinking about why there were no windows or clocks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They didn’t talk about why he could only visit at night, once everyone else had left to their dorms, leaving the </span>
  <strike>
    <span>experiment</span>
  </strike>
  <span> man alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead they talked about what interested them-- Harold regaled the other man with stories about the underground boxing ring </span>
  <strike>
    <span>where Bubby would never see a match </span>
  </strike>
  <span>and informed him of all their latest research about nuclear physics and space.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took five hours after the first man landed on the moon for Bubby to hear of it, Harold sneaking in a radio </span>
  <strike>
    <span>(normally disallowed)</span>
  </strike>
  <span> and replaying the broadcasts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He said, in all his hope and glamour and ignorance, that that would be him one day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One day he would go to the moon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike>
    <span>That would never happen.</span>
  </strike>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike>
    <span>He would never leave this facility.</span>
  </strike>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes Harold would show him magazines of the latest car models, explaining how they’d innovated for more horsepower or miles per gallon, and Bubby would tell him about his fantasies of a shiny blue Caddy, where they’d ride out over the interstate the the top down, feeling that rushing wind combat the hot New Mexico sun.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike>
    <span>That would never happen.</span>
  </strike>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike>
    <span>He’d never touch a car in his life.</span>
  </strike>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike>
    <span>And the closest thing he’d get was the trams, when he finally got time out of that tube, but those cameras watched and watched, the facility nothing more than a panopticon and nothing less than all he’d ever know.</span>
  </strike>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when he did get out of that tube, following Harold along on the tram </span>
  <strike>
    <span>(to swipe him through where he needed to, because he had no ID, he had no identity, for all intents and purposes he did not even exist)</span>
  </strike>
  <span>, he watched the research and development with wonder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harold bought him lunch, showed him the computers and filing rooms and vending machines, his locker with his degree and ties and his office with its chairs and plants. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bubby said he wanted one. A locker, an office, a dorm, a soda. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike>
    <span>Easier said than done.</span>
  </strike>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harold looked at him. Pitifully. Silently pointed at the tag on his ear, the red marks from his oxygen mask, every sign on his body screaming </span>
  <em>
    <span>prisoner </span>
  </em>
  <span>more than person.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike>
    <span>Easier done than said.</span>
  </strike>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. 19. Exhaustion & Handholding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>boomer part 2 electric boogaloo! except this time its not as overt. and just a little sprinkle of sad</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or… day?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There weren’t exactly any ways to tell time this deep in the mauled facility, but Dr. Coomer felt it must be nighttime, because he felt the need for sleep ache deep in his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gordon, I’m tired!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His voice was always too cheery and never really saying what he wanted. He didn’t have enough control to explain anything beyond the small phrases he came pre-packaged with, but he was luckily also too exhausted to care that much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gordon still took his direction, directing them to an empty room where they could hunker down the night. It was dark, and oddly humid, and generally just uncomfortable, but Dr. Coomer could deal with it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slumped himself against the wall, his head thumping back against the wall and his eyes closing. Even as tired as he was, sleep was still… apprehensive. Not something he was totally sure he wanted. Not because of the threat of aliens or other assailants (he was never particularly afraid of those) but that body-ripping pain he knew would always come when he closed his eyes…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thump</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A warmth at his side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cracked one of his eyes open to spy Bubby, who had come and sat down next to him with a rare look of concern shining behind his glasses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was certainly an answer to that question, but his tongue couldn’t untangle it from the tired mud of his mind. He tried, voice stuttering out something sounding vaguely like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hello</span>
  </em>
  <span>, until he just stopped trying and shut his mouth. Words wouldn’t work in his favor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He decided to reach over and grab Bubby’s hand instead, giving it a gentle squeeze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bubby looked at their hands, and then him, and then just nodded. He let Dr. Coomer rest his head on his shoulder, which was not much more comfortable than the wall, but it was certainly something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sleeping didn’t hurt as much this time.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. 20. Concussion & Enigmatic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>benrey introspection time</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sometimes, Benrey understood why Gordon was so off-put by him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sure, he had warned him as to what he really was, that he wasn’t human, but there’s a difference between hearing about it and seeing it for yourself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sure, he wasn’t human, but sometimes, he maybe sort of looked like one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it’s hard to look human after surviving having a laser bore into your head and then promptly throwing up colors.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Is that normal?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No. That was the whole point.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Benrey wasn’t normal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What was he?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone asked that. Someone asked him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was Benrey.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Benrey?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He got crushed in a door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lived. (?)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was kind of funny, he thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was horrific and unusual, that guy in the metal suit (Name? He’d learn it later) thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Humans don’t live through that. Except maybe the half-human strange things that also followed, that he was kind of friends(?) with. But it happened to Benrey, not them. So humans didn’t live through that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Benrey?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“--huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes they-- humans, mostly, mostly human things, they were-- tried talking to him. Directly to him. That was unusual, but not unwelcome. He never paid attention, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Where did his mind go?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wherever it was, it sure rattled when he got hit. Not like that hurt much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Until it hurt a lot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Being killed sure was a headache, wasn’t it?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, but he didn’t have a head. At least, not flesh, or muscle, nerves or blood, just a skull and its empty, bruised cranium. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That wasn’t very human. And he didn’t think that it was very Benrey, either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What was he?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he didn’t want to think on it for too long. He’d be Benrey again soon (or, some kind of Benrey, a bit to the left, a little shinier, maybe?)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hurt to think about.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. 21. Harsh climate & "I don't understand"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW sensory overload/meltdown and mentions of injury and blood</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Black Mesa was infinitely more dangerous than Tommy remembered; certainly the seemingly infinite amount of turrets and claymores and aliens and death and blood scattered around the hallways wasn’t OSHA approved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While he never worried too much about getting hurt himself, he knew his friends (especially Gordon, the most human of them all) didn’t have his immunity. As he shot yet another one of those jumping creatures, yellow guts splattering on his already dirty lab coat, he couldn’t help but feel… indignant. No, angry. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Angry</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His friends didn’t need to go through this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not with </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>powers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Speaking of the devil, Tommy saw the bullet from his gun slow as the world tinted blue, the telltale clicking of his father’s dress shoes sounding behind him. He turned around and was greeted with a warm, paternal smile, which was surely supposed to be loving but combined with his pristine suit and tie compared to his son’s haggard look it just seemed smug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hhhello, Tom--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-and where the hell have-- have </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>been?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>GMan’s smile dropped a that, somehow taken aback that Tommy could be mad at him, an interdimensional being with incomprehensible power, for leaving him and his friends to fend off the apocalypse by themselves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… you are… upset?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of--of course I’m upset! I do- d-- d-- there’s creatures</span>
  <em>
    <span>, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dad!” He gestured around the room, to the broken glass and alien corpses, the frozen forms of his injured friends and the blood staining their weapons. “The w-world </span>
  <em>
    <span>ended</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>GMan grimaced, apparently just now noticing the blood caked into Tommy’s hair and painting his face, staining his coat and his hands and his, you know, gun. His actual, dangerous, </span>
  <em>
    <span>well-used</span>
  </em>
  <span> gun. A 9mm Glock that any regular father should be </span>
  <em>
    <span>much </span>
  </em>
  <span>more worried about his son having.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...actually it… has not ended. Yet. You… are making good progress. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have, </span>
  </em>
  <span>been… wwwatching.”  He straightened his tie, an annoying thing he always seemed to do just to rub in his control of the situation. “You and your… friends, hm, make a good team. I’m confident that you, ccccan get through this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was another smile, almost like a smirk, almost like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>you and your weak little friends have to go through all this and I’m just going to watch instead of help</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy pointed his gun at him and pulled the trigger. It didn’t do anything, of course, time was frozen and so was the gun, but he hoped it conveyed his feelings more than his words could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why? Why won’t you just-- just help? W-w-w-w-why are you letting this hap-happen?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thissss is not… something. That I can stop. It’s--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit! You have-- have-- you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>powers</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They only… go </span>
  <em>
    <span>so far</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Tommy, this is… entirely out of my, hm, control. If I could help I… </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy was boiling over with rage, and fear, and confusion, because it seemed like GMan was rubbing in his position above all this while his words sounded so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fatherly </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>sincere</span>
  </em>
  <span> and other things that they should be. Nothing was what it should be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grasped at his hair and felt the gooey blood stuck there, texture rubbing on his skin like something awful and snake oil and </span>
  <em>
    <span>out of his control</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he was-- broken down. On his knees. His head spun. Time moved too fast but not-- not at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His voice was small. Or this huge room and the reality crashing in on his ears was too big. Too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't understand…”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>GMan tried his best to be there for his son.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His line of work made it difficult to be there all the time, but still, he tried, and when he couldn’t exactly see his son in person he tried to watch from the shadows, silently cheering him on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, when Black Mesa fell apart to an alien invasion, he had tried his best to stop it. Nudge things out of the way or back in, align energy and close portals. He had the power to do that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Too big of a nudge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have that kind of power.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes life and time runs its course. Understandable to him, a man who had been around this block more times than he could count, but maybe not so much to an outsider. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He really should have considered that when he visited his son.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A warm smile (Tommy liked smiles). They hadn’t spoken in a while. He’d be happy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A kind hello--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-and where the hell have-- have </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>been?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a fury on his son’s face that he’d rarely ever seen before (never, actually. An unusual thought for him of all people to see anything for the first time, especially at this age).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was upset.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thought the world had ended.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it hadn’t-- it was certainly close to it, but him and all his new friends (especially that Doctor Freeman, apparently his son’s new best friend, an odd choice but he tried not to judge) were fighting their way through the facility and fixing things themselves at an impressive pace. They still had a way to go, obviously, and several more foes to face (looking around and-- that ‘guard’ had died again, it seemed, a good reprieve), but they were doing good. His son had even learned how to use a gun, and while he could do with some safety training, he seemed a natural.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>GMan could say he was proud of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(As he always was.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But his son’s face, it was-- painted with anger (and blood), staring him down. He pulled at his tie (a nervous habit he’d had since he started wearing the thing) and tried to give him another, more reassuring smile. Tommy liked smiles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy tried to shoot him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bullet didn’t move, of course, but he still tried. And he was screaming at him, begging, asking why he wouldn’t just stop it, and GMan was trying to explain that he couldn’t, he tried, he really couldn’t--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His son, his poor, stressed son, was grasping at his hair and falling to his knees. Shaking his head from whatever must be buzzing and scraping in there (he described it once like buzzing and scraping, he remembered. He should have thought about this kind of possibility.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would move mountains for his son, figuratively and literally, but this was not a mountain. This was a universe. A timeline.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wished he could help, but he just couldn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy couldn’t understand.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this is like 1000 words in comparison to all the others being like 200-300 words each. yeah i kind of liked this prompt skjdsjh</p><p>gman is just trying his best</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. 22. Friendly fire & "Do you trust me?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After all that stress and walking, avoiding aliens and crawling through pipes with his one good arm, seeing Tommy felt like a fucking miracle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey! HEY! TOMMY!” Gordon screamed from the pipe in the ceiling, reaching out his one good arm down towards the other scientist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy was looking around, confused (in fact, he seemed to just have been standing there with no idea of what to do since before Gordon had gotten there, staring out over the strange green slime like he was… waiting? For something? For Gordon?)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s me! Tommy! Are you--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Mr. Freeman.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sounded sad, but not too sad. There was a … weird cadence in his voice. Like he was expecting this, or something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he turned his head to look at Gordon, his face was downcast, eyes too far away to see what emotion they held.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Was he waiting to kill him?)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you-- are you here to fuckin’ kill me? Did they-- did they tell you to finish me off? Please-- Please tell me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gordon trusted Tommy. Or he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>trust Tommy, right? Tommy was the only one who called out as he was attacked, so… he had to. He had to. He had to trust him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not like he had much of a choice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. They tricked me…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had to believe he was telling the truth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gordon was gripping the edge of the pipe as best he could, staring down the other man with a clear debate in his head on whether to come down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you trust me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had to trust him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gordon slipped down from the pipe, crashing to the floor, and Tommy… stood there. Watching him. Didn’t move to help him up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he wasn’t suffering so much blood loss, and if his injured brain hadn’t attached itself to the one hope of safety he could have, he probably would have realized something was very wrong, and very hopeless, and very unsafe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The alarm bells only went off when Gordon stumbled closer, trying to ask what he meant, and saw Tommy’s eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Empty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face looked sad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But his eyes were just </span>
  <em>
    <span>empty</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The difference between his dark eyes and the barrel of the pistol was so slight that Gordon only noticed it was there when it pressed against his forehead.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ok that's the batch of shit i wrote (and then forgot to put here for like a week but let's ignore that). apologies to anyone who gets chapter updates via email you have like 9 emails now skjdsdjk</p><p>the rest will be out SOONish. probably. its the middle of november you already shouldn't trust me about being timely</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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